


The Best Form of Flattery

by HObanana



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, F/M, Tropes, fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HObanana/pseuds/HObanana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers, with Darcy Lewis as his intrepid modern-day catcher-upper (not the official SHIELD name) has become quite the thorn in Hydra's side. Declaring that what is good for the goose is good for the gander, Hydra decides their own asset needs a dose of the 21st Century to stay on top. And who better to teach him then the very agent that rehabilitated Captain America himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Darcy Lewis had a thing for tights. Her father had raised her with an all-consuming fear of skin cancer and, as a result, she had spent all twenty-five years of her life pasty as all hell and with sunscreen perpetually somewhere on her person. And it wasn’t that pale skin was bad, per se. Darcy was completely happy with it. It was just that tights happened to pull outfits together in a way that practically translucent legs did not. Darcy Lewis liked skirts and Darcy Lewis had white-as-a-polar-bear-in-a-snowstorm stems ergo Darcy Lewis had a formidable collection of tights.

 

As Darcy dove behind a mailbox, avoiding the gunfire that sprayed in her wake, she had a brief thought that she might need to reconsider her fashion choices. The wet sting on her knees let Darcy know that her landing had not been as graceful as one would hope of a junior SHIELD agent, and she mentally kissed another pair of tights – and just, really? These babies had been brand new and completely opaque – up to Thor.

 

She scrambled for her phone, trying desperately to ignore the shrieking groan this particular set of Doombots were making every time the Hulk managed to swat one out of the air. Seriously, those things were like iPhones, Doom seemed to come out with some new and improved version semi-annually. Only, he had seriously misjudged the release date on Bot 7.0 or whatever they were at now.  The Fantastic Four were off dealing with some sea creature in Hawaii and so all Victor – Darcy subscribed to the Voldemort not You-Know-Who school of thought when it came to naming supervillians – had managed to accomplish with his new and improved robo-goons was scaring the absolute bejesus out of half of Times Square and causing Darcy to destroy yet another pair of perfectly good tights. Even with rent being taken care of by Tony freaking Stark, her pledge-level Salary was not going to cover the amount of hosiery she had been going through.

 

Finally spotting her Stark Phone (miraculously unharmed despite the less than athletic somersault she had taken to get to cover) Darcy punched in the first number she could think of. Thank Thor the first thing she had done as Steve’s 21st Century Tour Guide (or, officially, his _Ambassador_ ) was teach him how to operate a cell-phone. And if she had somehow neglected to inform him that emojis weren't actually a necessary part of modern-day textual communications well, it was only because who wouldn't love getting earnest texts from super-soldiers that ended with smiley faces, cacti, or monkeys. Darcy had no idea why, but Steve freaking loved his monkey emojis.

 

Voicemail. Crap.

 

“Steve!”

 

She liked to think this came across as a calm, yet urgent plea for back-up, but given that one of the Doombot 8.0s (they really were more advanced than last year’s model) had just vaporized the mailbox behind which Darcy was crouching, it probably ended up slightly more in the squawk-ish territory than she was comfortable admitting.

 

Executing yet another secret-agent roll (don’t say SHIELD never taught her anything) Darcy made for the alley behind her, pressing herself up against the bricks of the GAP store to her left, still cool to the touch even in the midday heat.

 

“Steve,” Darcy continued, practically conversationally, once she'd caught her breath. “Things are going to shit in midtown. Thought you should know. Also, if I get killed by a freaking _Doombot_ of all creatures because you were too engrossed in a Star Trek marathon – and yes, I know I introduced you to it and yes, you should keep watching but it’s a really inopportune time right now– I will use my ghostly powers to ensure the Yankees win the World Series for the foreseeable future”

 

Electing to keep it short, and satisfied that Captain Bubblebutt would understand the seriousness of her threat, Darcy hung up and slid the phone into the pocket of her skirt. While on some level she was aware that the team likely already knew of the attack, Darcy still felt better having made the call. Yes, Dr. Banner was currently sending the bots to their mechanical afterlife, but that was only because the good doctor had elected to accompany Darcy on her midday coffee run. Coffee, which had been one of the first casualties of the bots. The Doombots had uncanny aim; just accurate enough to completely wreck Darcy’s day, but not so deadly that she was actually injured.

 

Focus, focus, focus, Darcy chanted as she dragged her thoughts from the spilled coffee to the more pressing matter at hand.  Junior or not, she was an agent of SHIELD (and wasn't that the biggest plot twist fate could possibly have thrown at her but, as it turned out, where Thor went Jane went, and where Jane went Darcy went and where Thor went was the Avengers so here they all were) and so she really should not be hiding out in an alley while innocent civilians fled. Ignoring the sharp prick against her calf – it’s not a needle it’s not a needle it’s not some junkie’s discarded needle– Darcy took a couple steadying breaths and headed out into the crowd, grabbing the nearest couple of screaming tourists and shoving them toward the alley she had just vacated.

 

Grabbing her Taser, Darcy neatly short-circuited the nearest flying Doombot, sending him crashing into two of his brethren below him. Totally meant to do that. Darcy allowed herself a brief moment of awe at just how cool that had been and then flicked the switch to recharge her Taser (thanks to Tony and his need to play with all things mechanical, Darcy was now the proud owner of a Taser with seemingly unlimited charges) and aimed at the next flying piece of soon-to-be scrap metal.

 

She'd made her way through maybe ten of the suckers before they seemed to realize she was a threat. Really, Darcy was surprised it had taken the hive mind that long, although she figured compared to the Hulk she was but a blip on their radar. Regardless, they’d now deemed her worthy of extermination (oh joy) and about twenty turned on her en masse.

 

Shit.

 

Upping the voltage on her Taser – maybe with enough of a charge the electricity would jump from one to another, taking out a whole group at once – she braced herself against a garbage can and, ignoring the stinging in her knees or the way her world was starting to tilt sideways, took aim at the middle of the oncoming group. The shot took out a good three quarters of them – and didn’t they just light up like the fourth of July with all their circuitry spazzing out, she thought hazily – but the surviving bots were still coming straight after her. Slightly more worrisome was the fact that she was apparently incapable of standing anymore.

 

(Darcy had been drugged before. Once, her sophomore year of college, some asshole had apparently thought a great way to get laid would be to give her some Rohypnol. Thankfully, her friends had gotten her out of the bar once she’d started to sag, but Darcy still remembered the clawing feeling of panic rising up in her throat when she’d realized her body wasn’t responding, and that her mind wasn’t far behind.)

 

Slumping against the trashcan, and watching the bots approaching through narrowed eyes, she blearily wondered when it could have happened this time. She hadn’t had a chance to have even a sip of her mocha before the Doombots had arrived, and before that it had been tap water at the Tower.

 

Maybe the drugs would make whatever was about to happen next much more palatable, she mused. At the very least, even as the head Doombot raised his arm, and she felt the hum of electricity gather around it, being drugged meant that she’d just stopped giving a damn.

 

Darcy blinked. A slow, dragging of her eyelids that felt like it took several minutes to accomplish. Maybe it had, because the next time she got her eyes fully open, Doombot Asshole A – the one that had been about to shoot her – was currently wavering on his feet without a head, and Captain America – freaking finally, took him long enough – was punching the one behind it with enough force to send Bot B careening into Bots C, D and E. Bots F and G were decapitated with a spin kick. She’d taught him that, Darcy thought - if not triumphantly because that seemed to be past her right now - then at least a little smugly. And if by “taught” she meant show him the YouTube video of some MMA fighter doing that well, credit where credit was due.

 

Rolling her head to the side – like a newborn baby Darcy had apparently lost all ability to hold her head up on her own damn neck – she saw Natasha and Clint making quick work of any bot that had managed to escape the Hulk’s grabby little hands, and the Sam and Tony were catching any that tried to fly away.

 

She blinked again.

 

All the Doombots were finished. Lying in the street like some futuristic apocalyptic scene. Which, she thought sluggishly, wouldn’t all Apocalypses be futeristic? Given that it hadn’t happened so far, any that did happen would have to be in the future…

 

She blinked again.

 

Steve’s face hovered anxiously over hers, blurry without her glasses. Or was she wearing her glasses and he was blurry anyway?

 

“Darce? Darcy! Are you injured?”

 

In her head (because her body was now completely non-responsive and if Darcy had been any more with it she would have been worried about this development) Darcy tried not to giggle. Steve’s voice was coming out in slow-motion, and he sounded like one of the parents from _Charlie Brown_. She tried to reassure him, to tell him that likely all this was was an asshole barista and spectacularly poor timing, but before she could say anything she felt her eyes close again.

 

Tuesdays were the absolute worst.


	2. Chapter 2

Ok, the hangover worse than death. That, she remembered from that one time sophomore year. So, probably not dead. To be honest, Darcy remembered little after getting her coffee shot out from in front of her. She discharged her Taser a couple times, she thinks. Maybe. Could she open her eyes? Darcy tried.

 

Nope. No go on the eyes for the moment then. Her head felt like someone had filled it with Styrofoam. All white and padded and it made terrible screeching sounds every time she tried to hobble a semblance of a thought together. And good Thor, Darcy would do terrible things for a glass of water right about now.

 

She drifted for a while. Aware, ridiculously uncomfortable, and unable to really do anything to alleviate the situation. Eventually, Darcy became aware that someone else was moving around the room she was in. Wherever that was. At least her ears were functioning normally then. One out of five for the senses wasn’t terrible. Catching a whiff of apple, Darcy recognized Jane’s shampoo. Two out of five, then. And she knew it was a friendly in the room with her.

 

Her sense of touch was on its way back as well. Darcy now knew she was lying in a bed – which, she had _assumed_ but still, good to get confirmation – and a slightly too heavy blanket covered most of her body. Time to try the eyes again.

 

She suddenly found herself blinking very rapidly, as her eyes struggled to adjust to the overhead lighting in Tony's medical ward.

 

“Darcy!”

 

She winced. Her ears were maybe working a little too well. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

 

Did she really just say that? Whatever she’d been drugged with had done a number on her physically, but apparently it was also affecting cognitive abilities if that was the best she could come up with.  She steeled herself and tried again.

 

“What’s the shnizzle Jane Frizzle? Oh God, Jane, don’t let me talk ever again.”

 

Ignoring Darcy’s verbal crisis, Jane moved to sit at the foot of Darcy’s bed. “How are you feeling Darcy? We weren’t sure at first what happened to you. It didn’t appear you had been injured by the Doombots but you were completely unresponsive. Dr. Banner and I ran some blood work once we got you back to the Tower, and you’ll never believe what happened.”

 

Oh she just bet she could. “Was I floried?” Geez, still not operating with all cylinders if the best she could manage was a _The Hangover_ joke. As far as pop culture went, that franchise was pretty far down the food chain. Regardless, the quip was lost on Jane, who blinked at Darcy once before continuing on, grabbing the pop-tart she’d previously abandoned on Darcy’s side table. (Abandoned when though? Jane wasn’t exactly the best at feeding herself, and given that Darcy’s conception of time was a little wonky at the moment, Jane could be eating something from a week ago, for all she knew).

 

“Your test results showed an extremely high amount of Flunitrazepam in your blood. We thought at first it might have been from the coffee –“ I knew it, Darcy thought “ but then we found a small needle injection about mid calf. “

 

Darcy blinked. That was unexpected. She tried to remember when such a thing could have happened. But recalling any of the events prior to her collapsing like a sack of potatoes face first into Steve’s lap – of course that would be what she remembers – was like slogging through quicksand. She settled for a simpler question.

 

“How long was I out for?” Slightly less croaky this time. Not bad.

 

“Forty-eight hours. It was quite a high dosage. You should have been out for longer but we were able to flush most of it out quickly…” Darcy zoned out as Jane continued to explain what exactly had been happening in Darcy’s body for the last two days. Experimentally – and not at all driven by Darcy’s ever increasing need for water, no sir, she was not one to be ruled by base needs – Darcy tried sitting up. Surprisingly easy. Maybe those drugs Jane was still going on about had some uses after all. Swinging her legs off the bed, Darcy ignored Jane’s surprised pause until she’d grabbed the water pitcher from the table and, foregoing the nearby cup, chugged. Sweet Thor that was amazing stuff.

 

Feeling more and more like an actual real live human being with every passing second, she fumbled for her glasses on the side table and jammed them on her face. SHIELD had gotten on her about Lasik when she first joined, but Darcy honestly liked her glasses. bBesides, it was hardly like she was a field agent.

 

“So,” she began, “I know a creepy barista wannabe-rapist isn’t exactly Avengers-level priority, but I bet I can convince Tony to make an exception.” More likely, Darcy thought, Pepper “I brook no shit against anyone but especially women” Potts would already be on it.

 

Jane hesitated. “Darcy, it wasn’t the barista. We think someone was trying to kidnap you, and the Doombot 8.0” (so Darcy had been right about that, at least) “invasion messed up the plan.”

 

Darcy blinked. Ok. Time to recalibrate. Up till this point she’d assumed it was her admittedly fabulous rack that had made her a target, not her day job as an Avengers nanny. She had already been very much not ok with everything that had just happened to her – that asshole in college had really fucked with her sense of safety and agency for a while and she really didn’t want to head back down that particular rabbit hole – but Jane’s revelation had just added a whole new level of not ok-ness to the last 72 hours. Briefly, Darcy fantasized about giving in to the roiling in her stomach and throwing up all over Stark’s nice clean hospital room, but she decided that might be too dramatic. And really, she didn’t want to distract Jane from her pop tart. Thor knows the last time that woman ate.

 

Darcy swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. She could do this. She was a professional, for all that was worth, and she could handle this objectively.

 

“Right. Right….Right” She needed to say something else. Focus on the task at hand. “I assume the team is meeting about this new threat?”

 

Jane glanced anxiously at the younger woman. “Yes,” she began slowly, “but everyone was waiting until you woke up to do so. They hoped you might remember when you were drugged.” As Darcy moved to stand, Jane hurried on, “But Darcy you don’t need to go right now! They’ll wait.”

 

A little unsteadily, Darcy made her way to the chair where some clothes – she assumed they were for her given the sizing – lay. “Jane, the longer we wait, the more likely it is that the trail will go cold. We’ve already lost a lot of time what with the sandman paying me an extra long visit and all, I’d rather get ahead of this if it’s at all possible.”

 

Jane looked like she was about to say something and then stopped. “I – right. I’ll let everyone know, meeting in 15.” As she turned to leave the room, she stopped and turned back, catching Darcy mid-strip. “Darcy, I’m really glad nothing happened to you. I know you’re a SHIELD agent and not my intern anymore but – “

 

“Boss-lady,” Darcy cut her off, using her old nickname for Jane, “I came out fine. Nothing happened, no one took me. We have earth’s mightiest heroes here, no one is going to take me anywhere I don't want to go.”

 

It was bravado, and Jane knew it was bravado, and Darcy knew Jane knew it was bravado, but they both let the moment pass anyway, something Darcy was profoundly grateful for. She was definitely going to have to work through some things, but for the time being Darcy opted to follow in the prestigious Lewis way and determinedly _not_ deal with feelings or emotions or anything that wasn’t actual work. And if she helped catch whomever was trying to snatch her well, that would go a long way toward ameliorating a good majority of those feelings before Darcy had to actually confront them.  

 

Grabbing the water jug and taking another swig – her grandmother would be appalled – Darcy ran her fingers through her hair and, avoiding the mirror, headed for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play count how many tropes I can use in a single chapter. The answer? a lot. 
> 
> Also this whole thing is unbeta'd and really just very seat of your pants in general so any and all mistakes are mine.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was already at the meeting table when Darcy staggered through the door. Of course he was. Abandoning all pretenses of being graceful or put together, Darcy staggered over and leaned against the table next to where Steve was sitting. Thanks to Stark’s love of all things shiny, she’d managed to catch a glimpse of her reflection on the way down from Medical, so she was under no illusions that she looked like anything other than something the cat would drag in.

 

Steve was looking a little too worried for his own good though. Seriously, on the list of bad shit that happened to team members, being drugged and almost kidnapped barely ranked.

 

“Hey there, how you feeling?’ He smiled up at her in a way that was just so endearing. It should be illegal for someone that hot and lethal to look so adorable. Although, Darcy had actually had that exact same thought about Natasha the time she had joined Darcy, Jane and Pepper for Ladies’ night and had gracefully allowed a completely lit Jane to shove a cocktail umbrella behind each of her ears. It definitely made sense that he and Nat were – Darcy hesitated using the word dating even in her mind because Natasha didn’t like that descriptor and Darcy was also nearly positive Nat could read minds– a thing.

 

Steve was still looking at her expectantly, and wow did no one do that concerned look better than him.

 

“What’s a matter there Cap? You look a little worried.” She had elected to go the teasing route, apparently. “You feeling a little red, white and…blueee?” she leaned on the last word, embracing the absolutely horrific pun for what it was.

 

Steve just stared at her, either shocked beyond words that Darcy’s humor had sunk so low, or still waiting for a serious reply.

 

Darcy blew at a chunk of her hair that had fallen in front of her face. That two-minute walk from Stark’s hospital wing had really tuckered her out, and she couldn’t quite muster up the energy to actually lift a hand and remove the offending piece of hair. “A little doped up still, but that’s mostly gone thanks to Banner’s miracle drug cocktail he filled me up with.”

 

“That’s not quite what I was asking, you know.”

 

“Seriously,” Darcy prattled on, “if being a world-renowned scientists and official member of the coolest team on earth ever doesn’t pan out for him, he would make a killing on the college circuit. All he’d need is a catchy name and slogan, which I could totally help him with.”

 

Steve was apparently not to be deterred by Darcy’s imagining of promised riches though. He stood up, gently steering Darcy into the seat he’d just vacated and then stood behind her and began gently finger-combing her hair back out of her face. He’d learned the most bizarre assortment of skills back before turning into Frozone for a while, and, thanks to the USO girls, a mean French braid was one of his more useful accomplishments. He started again, “Darcy…”

 

Darcy let out a huff. Perhaps not as strong a huff as she would have liked but really, the man was currently working miracles on hair that had previously looked like something a bird would nest in. Regardless, this day was going to get exponentially longer if everyone was going to ask her how she felt and expect an answer longer than “fine.”

 

“Working on being ok, Steve. I’ll get there.  And hey, thanks for coming in with the ninja spin kicks when you did. Would hate for SHIELD to give you a less cool teacher as my replacement.”

 

Steve finished off her braid with a hair tie that he had miraculously procured from somewhere, and moved to sit at her left. He grinned slightly.

 

“Well, the less demonic help the Yankees have, the better.”

 

“Precisely. And besides – hold up. Demonic?” She lifted an eyebrow at Captain Smarmypants whose grin had by this point grown into a full-blown smirk.

 

Little shit.

 

She swatted him affectionately, before leaning foreword and resting her head on the cool glass of the table. The only reason she didn’t respond with some devastating take down, she consoled herself, was because Darcy Lewis was a taker of the high road. It had nothing to do with her head still feeling like someone had turned her skull inside out. Between the fact that Darcy really did need to be thinking clearly right now and the clear evidence that she was incapable of doing so, she was starting to get a full-blown stress headache. Rubbing at her temples briefly, she made an executive decision.

 

Sitting up straight, Darcy leaned forward and grabbed a notepad from where they were stacked in the center. Gracelessly ripping out a page she scribbled a brief note on it and then tossed the paper and pen back towards the middle of the table. Grabbing Steve by the ear, she pointed towards the door and then looked back at Steve pleadingly. Hotshot wasn’t the only one in the room who could do good puppy eyes. Obligingly, Steve knelt beside her chair, allowing Darcy to clamber onto his back, before standing and starting to make his way from the meeting room.

 

Glancing at the note Darcy had written, She started, “you know Jarvis can contact the team and inform them of the change in venue?”

 

Darcy rested her head against Steve’s shoulder. The not-walking was a huge bonus, but the slight sway of his step was also causing her stomach to rebel in very worrisome ways. Fake it till you make it. “Yeah but I like to make them work for it.”

 

And so, ten minutes later Darcy was finishing up gathering baking ingredients while Steve took a seat at the counter. Unsurprisingly, Nat was already in the kitchen when Darcy and Steve had arrived, looking for all the world as if she’d always known the team rendezvous would end up there. She’d quirked an eyebrow at Darcy when they first made eye contact, to which Darcy had replied by shrugging her shoulders. And that was all Nat was going to say on the subject of Darcy Lewis’ ok-ness. She was now perched on Steve’s lap, snagging occasional scoops of cookie dough. Super spies. Darcy knew Nat was probably going to end up eating half the batter (it was why she made a double batch) but she had yet to catch the assassin red-handed.

 

A common misconception was that Darcy baked out of love. That she baked to show people she cared about them and they were her People. Only Jane (and likely Nat because again, Nat pretty much knew everything) knew her motivations were a little skewed. Darcy was a stress baker. She baked to stave off the headaches like the one gathering momentum against her temples now. And if she baked long enough, she could pretend that the knot between her shoulders was from kneading dough or rolling out cookie batter, and not from never-ending tension. It just so happened that whenever Clint or Steve or Nat or Sam went dark for a couple days, that caused Darcy a good deal of stress. And so there was always a freshly baked something waiting for the team when they came, dirty and more haunted than before, back to the Tower. Of course love played a factor in all this, but love in and of itself was not the baking impetus Darcy needed. And, with some creepy organization – Darcy had by this point decided it was likely an organization and not some individual baddy – warm for her agent form, some serious cookie making was in order.

 

Sam and Tony were the last to straggle into the kitchen, having been down in R and D making adjustments to the Falcon’s wings. Darcy was mid mix, but stopped briefly to kiss Sam on the cheek when he sidled up to her (and judging by the slight smirk Natasha displayed, she’d taken advantage of Darcy’s distraction to grab some more dough), and to punch Tony lightly in the shoulder when he made some comment about “Sparky, if you’d needed more attention from the team you could have just _asked._ ”

 

Darcy could have shot back something about attention-whores not throwing stones in billionaire houses, but the cookie-mixing was really about all she could manage by now, and so she choose to read behind Tony’s comment to the genuine concern he masked. Besides, given the look Pepper was currently shooting the former playboy – who was doing his best not to make eye-contact – he would definitely not be escaping unscathed.

 

Heh. Unscathed. Because Extremis. Hooy boy, she really needed to get her head back in order if that was the level of humor she was currently operating on.

 

Standing, Steve gently placed Nat on the counter, something the spy didn’t seem too concerned about given that she now had even better access to Darcy’s cookie bowl. However, before he could get a word out, Jarvis interrupted, sounding about as nonplussed as the AI could manage.

 

“Sir, Dr. Doom is on the line and wishes to speak to the team.”

 

The tension ratcheted up. Darcy sighed, and decided to start in on some brownies. A few seconds later, Doom’s metal visage appeared on one of the walls.

 

“Greetings. I wish to inform you that Doom regrets the recent incident in Manhattan. It was not of Doom’s doing, and he apologizes any confusion the appearance of your attackers may have caused.”

 

Tony snorted. “Oh, so those weren’t your newest prototypes tearing up Times Square and almost getting Sparky over there killed? Because that subpar machinery of yours is pretty recognizable. Nothing says ‘hey, NOT DoomBots’ more than some green medieval drapery. I gotta say man, the Peter-pan look is not in right now.”

 

Doom ignored Tony’s jab - which was pretty big of him Darcy thought – and continued. “Those were machines of Doom's own design. However, a prototype was recently stolen from the Latverian treasury, and these robots were based off that blueprint.” Stiffly, he finished, “Doom would not attack while the Fantastic Four were engaged elsewhere.”

 

Tony opened his mouth, probably to say something rude, but before he could Doom had – hung up? Darcy wasn’t really sure the proper terminology for technology as advanced as Jarvis. 

 

Aside from an uttered "Honestly, Tony" from Pepper, the kitchen descended into thoughtful silence at Doom's pronouncement.

 

Darcy shoved the brownies in the oven. She’d decided cookie-stuffed brownies would do nicely. “So,” she began casually. She figured it was an obvious question but if she didn’t ask it who would? “Say we believe Victor over there. If he didn’t send the bots, who did?”

 

No one really knew the answer, but then Clint asked a second question that made Darcy decide some biscuits might also be in order.

 

“Do the knock-off Doombots have anything to do with Darcy being drugged? I mean, it seems a little too coincidental otherwise.”

 

Well. That wasn’t really something she’d thought of. She rather wished she hadn’t, now that she had.

 

“Darcy,” Pepper began. Darcy tried to glare at the taller woman but she’s pretty sure all she managed was an impressive pout. She knew what was coming. “I know you value having a place outside of the Tower to stay, but maybe it would be best if you moved into the suite Tony had made up for you, just until we get to the bottom of this.”

 

Logically, Darcy knew this was the right thing to do. She even felt some of the tension leaving her neck at the thought. But, irrationally, Darcy liked her little Brooklyn apartment. She liked not having her entire life being wrapped up in this Tower, this team. It wasn’t like Darcy got to spend a huge amount of time in her little one-bedroom, but she valued having it there nonetheless.

 

She groaned, ignoring Tony’s muffled “don’t act too excited,” and moved to grab the brownies from the oven.

 

Finally, she muttered, “free baked good of choice to whoever helps me move all my junk over here.”

 

That would get her Sam and Clint as muscle for sure; likely Steve too, although he liked to pretend he had more self-control when it came to food than the other two.  Even with Thor off-planet at the moment, those three would be more than enough. Nat just smiled. She was getting homemade food regardless, and she damn well knew it.

 

Bruce and Jane started wandering back to their labs, talking about reverse-engineering the particular strain of roofies Darcy had been hit with in the hopes of tracing it back to a certain supplier. Pepper had Tony in a corner, and from the slightly ashamed look on his face Darcy had no doubt she was laying into him for the crack he’d made earlier. Thor bless that woman.

 

Sam smiled at Darcy and moved to snag one of the brownie cubes she’d just finished dicing. “We’ll be over bright and early on Saturday to get your stuff.” As he walked away, deftly deflecting Darcy’s half-hearted grab at the brownie, he called over his shoulder, “I like snicker doodles, by the way.”

 

Meeting adjourned. Darcy turned to look at Steve, Nat, and Clint. Pointing at the cookie-dough and half-baked brownies, Darcy inquired, “Who wants to help me stuff these cookies and then go watch Steve watch reality TV?”

 

None of the Avengers actually liked watching _Jersey Shore_. However, it was great fun watching Steve watch Jersey Shore, if only because Darcy got an inordinate amount of pleasure every time his trademarked “disappointed in humanity” face was directed at something other than her. And, despite Steve’s protestations, Darcy had declared that the cancelled show was a hallmark of modern culture (which it kind of was in ways Darcy didn’t really care to think about) and so insisted that he watch it religiously. She compensated by introducing the beleaguered super-soldier to Star Trek, she told herself.

 

Ignoring Natasha, who had now started in on sneaking brownies -- either she was getting sloppy or she was deliberately letting Darcy catch her – Darcy, grabbed a seat, watching as Steve and Clint obediently started molding the dough around the brownies.

 

“Sir Sparks-a-lot, your new abode will be on the 61st floor, between Steve and Thor.” Tony announced, heading after the departed Sam. “Don’t throw any ragers without me.”

 

Knowing that Natasha stayed more nights in Steve’s room than her own, Darcy grinned cheerily up at the redhead. Time for some pay back for all the stolen cookies. “So, “ she began cheekily, practically beaming at the spy and ignoring Clint’s muffled snort, “new neighbors?”

 

Natasha gave Darcy a dead-eyed look, before deliberately picking up another brownie and popping it in her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is wondering, these http://bromabakery.com/2015/03/brownie-stuffed-chocolate-chip-cookies.html are what Darcy is making. They're delicious.
> 
> I have the plot all out in my head, but I'm worried about getting the characters right, so let me know how I'm doing re: characterization!


	4. Chapter 4

In retrospect, Darcy may have brought this on herself. If only she hadn’t been so damn stubborn about moving, and then (somewhat petulantly) refused to box anything up prior to the arrival of Sam, Clint, and Steve. Tony had briefly talked about hiring movers, but Natasha nixed that, pointing out that the less people who knew about Operation Prodigal Lewis the better. The fact that Darcy had completely neglected to prep meant that the entire shindig took way more time than expected. And if she’d just been ready on time, she would have been safely ensconced in the tower well before the boys’ bat-phones rang – halfway through carrying her couch down six flights while Darcy amused herself by yelling “Pivot!”

 

(Apparently a giant frog was chilling in Bryant Park, and it seemed to view the screaming tourists much as its smaller brethren viewed flies.)

 

Clint and Steve dashed off, while Sam hung back. At Darcy’s raised eyebrow, he smiled lightly. “I’m right behind them, just waiting for our replacements to arrive. If this is AIM that’s after you, a giant frog seems up their alley as a diversion.”

 

Darcy slid Sam a glance through her lashes. “I thought we were supposed to be keeping this operation private?”

 

“We are,” Sam replied easily. “But Steve brought in some boys from STRIKE team as a contingency, in case some Avenger business came up mid-move. They should be here in 5.”

 

“Always a man with a plan, huh?” Darcy grinned. “So, I take it AIM is the current front runner for whichever evil conglomerate has the Darcy hots?”

 

“Well, Tony hasn’t completely ruled out Dr. Doom, but I suspect that has more to do with Doom overwhelming Tony’s tech than anything. AIM seems like they’d be interested in Foster’s research, and given that she’s usually attached at the hip to an actual god, you probably seemed like a safer option.” Sam hopped up on the counter beside her.

 

Darcy snorted. Safer, sure. Also way less useful. She could hack the odd database just fine, but she made it her business not to know everything that went on in Jane’s mind, just in case such a kidnapping actually succeeded. At least that's what she told herself when Tony and Jane started using complex equations as complete sentences.

 

“You know,” she muttered, “The fact that I had to be made a SHIELD agent just to remain Jane’s assistant is bullshit. Especially because one day of what amounts to “how to act in a fire” training does not an agent make.”

 

“Well yeah,” Sam poked her, “That’s why you’re a _Junior_ agent. It’s really just because Fury’s a control freak. Needs to have everything under his purview. And what you do for Steve could be considered agent work”

 

“I know that,” she retorted. At first she'd thought it was unfair, having to be affiliated with SHIELD while Jane didn’t, but Darcy had snuck a peek at Jane's files her second month as an "agent", and Fury had Jane down as an ‘Avenger Consort.’"

 

Darcy pursed her lips thoughtfully, kicking her legs against the cabinets. Now that she thought about it, she doubted Jane had even realized she had an “official” title. And somehow, Darcy doubted she’d be happy about what it was. Next time Jane pulled a Science!bender, Darcy new exactly how to distract the petite genius. A slightly manic Jane would likely not even think twice about confronting Fury directly, which Darcy planned on witnessing come hell or high water. With popcorn.

 

A short rap at the door interrupted her imaginings of such a meeting, and Sam slid off the counter and stood slightly in front of her, one hand going to his holstered weapon. “Yeah?” Sam called out.

 

“Wilson? It’s Rumlow. I’ve got Collins with me,” Came from the other side of the door.

 

Sam relaxed, his hand dropping away from his hip. “Darce, I hate to run but I gotta grab my wings from the tower.” He crossed quickly to the door and opened it, nodding at the two men on the other side.

 

The slightly older agent nodded back, then pointed up. “Chopper’s on the roof. It was a bit of a tight landing but you should be fine taking off. Would have taken it regardless due to the traffic, but Bloomberg closed all the bridges, thanks to AIM’s latest stunt.”

 

Darcy inhaled sharply. “You landed a _chopper_ on my _roof?”_

 

The leading agent smirked at her, and reached out to shake her hand, while the other one closed and locked the door. “Rumlow.” He said again by way of an introduction.

 

Darcy grabbed his hand briefly, before returning to her perch on the counter. “Darcy Lewis, nominal SHIELD agent. I take it you’ll be the heroes disassembling my bed frame?”

 

“No heroes here, Ms. Lewis. Captain Rogers is taking your security very seriously. We’re just here to monitor you until the situation in Midtown is wrapped up. Apparently he’s worried about you being grabbed during transport.”

 

 

Darcy hopped off the counter again. She found herself a bit fidgety alone with the two unknown agents. But Steve had vouched for them; they were hardly dangerous (to her). Maybe that’s what unnerved her. Logically she knew that most of the people she so casually palled around had killed people – a lot of people. Non-people too, for that matter. But something about Rumlow and Collins’ manner seemed to bring that reality home in a way that didn’t happen with Steve, or Sam, or even Tony.

 

“Well,” she began a bit too brightly, “I know Steve’s a worrywart, but this seems a bit extreme for someone who codes in data and shows the good captain YouTube.”

 

Rumlow’s stare was beginning to unnerve her, and the hairs on her back were standing on end. She remained pressed against the kitchen counter, it’s solidity at her back making her feel more at ease.

 

“Oh, I think we all know you do more than show Captain Rogers how to Google naked women, Sweetheart,” Collins started with a laugh, but was silenced by a quick look from Rumlow.

 

There were several things Darcy took issue with in that particular sentence, but she was already so on edge that she settled for beating it back into her bedroom with a flimsy excuse about packing, and attempting to calm her jumping nerves in private.

 

“It’s just that it’s all becoming real now,” she told herself firmly. She’d yet to truly freak out over exactly all of the implications of what was happening, and clearly now was the start of that particular meltdown. Excellent timing, as usual. Thanks, brain.

 

Darcy had been in her bedroom maybe half an hour practicing slow breathing when she heard the door to her apartment open. She froze for a second, but not hearing any commotion from the Men in Black, rose quickly to her feet, opened her bedroom door, and peered out.

 

Three other men in fatigues were joining the original agents, and all sorts of alarm bells were ringing in Darcy’s head. Those bells rose to a cacophony when one of the men hauled off and slugged Collins. She slammed the door shut and dove across her mattress towards her bag where her Taser was, banging her legs on the partially disassembled bed as she did so. Loud cursing and thumps could be heard from the other side of the door.

 

She was halfway across the mattress again, about to charge into the fray, when the noise from her living room began to actually register her brain in a way that made her stutter to a stop.

 

“Goddamit McFadden, you’re trying to give me a concussion, not turn me into a vegetable”

 

That was Collins.

 

A short laugh barked out from someone, she thought Rumlow. “This is hardly enjoyable for either of us.” Definitely Rumlow. “Johnson: take over for McFadden before he gets too carried away beating on his superiors. You can finish up the headshots while we’re awake to ensure no lasting damage, and then get the rest of us after you put us under. It’s got to be particularly brutal if this is going to be convincing, and I don’t need to hear Collins bitching on top of that.”

 

Back across the mattress she went for her phone, hitting the newly installed panic button just as the door opened and one of the unknown men stepped into the room. Dressed in grey, not black like Rumlow and Collins, he smiled in a way that showed all his teeth.

 

“I’m hoping you’ve had the good sense to hit that panic button already?” Slightly off kilter, Darcy only nodded slightly, holding her Taser down by her thigh.

 

“Excellent, they'd expect you to,” Creepy Creep replied, while behind him the oddest beat-down Darcy had ever seen continued. A very short, very urly man in the same grey fatigues as Creep was hitting Rumlow about the head, while the older agent did nothing but swear occasionally. Creep was just starting to raise what looked like a gun – although something was off about it, Darcy registered remotely, she doubted this gun contained a bullet – when he went down twitching.

 

Darcy remained in the corner, and lowered her Taser again. Four against one. Not great odds, but not terrible.

 

“Fucking McFadden” could be heard from the living room, and then Rumlow roared “Olsen, get in there and get her, and watch the fucking Taser! You were briefed! You knew she had it!”

 

Steve. Darcy thought with sudden panic. He didn’t know about STRIKE team being AIM. She crouched and grabbed her phone, typing frantically.

 

In the end, her floorboards betrayed her. They were old, and creaked. Or they did when any normal person walked on them. Darcy had expected a warning before Olsen appeared at the doorway, and she wasn’t able to dodge whatever dart was currently sticking out of her neck.

 

For the second time in four days Darcy’s world was abruptly tilting sideways. Her phone slid from her hands, the half-finished text not sent, and she slumped against the wall. Black combat boots entered he line of site, and picked up the Stark phone.

 

“Clever, princess. But nobody likes a snitch,” came the unfamiliar voice of who she assumed was Olsen, “and you’re not quite right with AIM, although they do make a great scapegoat.”

 

Grey fatigues came into view as he crouched in front of her, and Olsen bent over her head, brushing her hair back from her cheek in a way that would have made her shiver, if her body had been capable of reacting. Olsen seemed to enjoy her discomfort anyway, sniffing her hair lightly before moving his mouth to her ear.

 

Darcy’s vision blacked out, but she could still feel his lips against her ear lobe.

 

Whispering.

 

“Hail – “

 

And she was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I vanished! Real life and all that.
> 
> Playing very loosely with canon timelines. In my version, Steve was still in DC for a time, where he met and recruited Sam, worked with STRIKE team, and finally got it on with Natasha. However, he's now back in NYC (for insert whatever reason here) and the Avengers are a working unit.
> 
> Un-beta'd, all mistakes are my own.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All!
> 
> Sorry for the long absence (again) I realized publishing chapters as soon as they were written wasn't actually very productive for me, so I've taken this time to get a pretty decent head start on the story (which keeps getting longer and longer - originally this was supposed to be about 10 chapters total and now it's looking at double that) but I should be able to keep to a more regular posting schedule, 1-2 times per week.
> 
> Just a quick warning: this chapter gets pretty dark. There is some torture. It's not super graphic, but it's definitely there, and it's pretty fucked up. if you choose to skip this chapter, I can definitely summarize it for you in the comments if you let me know, but Darcy will be dealing with the repercussions of what happens here for a while. 
> 
> As always, this work is unbeta'd

_ 10am, Sunday _

 

Darcy Lewis was getting really  _ fucking _ tired of the headache that accompanied rejoining the world of the conscious. If anything, this go round - not a week since the last time she’d been drugged - was even more unpleasant, as she was pretty positive she wasn’t waking up in a cushy, Stark-funded hospital room. 

 

Nope, definitely not.

 

Voices. Male. Low and guttural, murmuring around her. She couldn’t be certain until she opened her eyes, but she was pretty sure she was standing up, and strapped to something. An uncomfortable something. With a bright  _ fucking _ light shining into her dry  _ fucking  _ eyes. Darcy was mad, nay furious, which was odds-on not the best emotion to be feeling right now, but given that her other option was weeping in terror, she opted to stoke the flames a little higher before opening her eyes.

 

“Who the FUCK do you think you are?” were the first, oh-so-classy words out of her mouth, as she opened her eyes and glared - more like squinted - around the room. She recognized that utter prick, Olsen, leaning against the back wall with a smirk on his face, while an older blonde man in a three piece suit stood nearer to her. The room was bare, with black, corrugated metal across the floor, walls and ceiling. A Red Octopus with a skull for a head looked like it had been spray-painted across the back wall. So that’s what this was, Darcy thought to herself,  a fringe group trying to rekindle a decades old terrorist organization. Strip lighting gave the two men - and likely Darcy herself - a sickly pallor. The older, suited man turned at her outburst and smiled. 

 

“Ah, Miss Lewis, we’re so glad you could join us.” He spread his hands out towards her like he was welcoming her to his Hamptons summer home, and not to what was increasingly looking to Darcy like the containment cell of a Helicarrier. He nodded at Olsen once, and the agent disappeared from the room.

 

“To answer your first question, quite simply, WE are Hydra.” He paused, looking for some sort of acknowledgement.

 

Darcy snorted. “Like fuck you are.”

 

The man just smiled enigmatically. And something about him - the glasses, or the full shock of blonde hair - looked familiar. Darcy scanned her brain, trying to think of when she could have seen the man. 

 

Choosing to ignore her comment, the man continued, “and I, am Alexander Pierce.”

 

The Secretary of Defense. The Secretary of Defense of the United Fucking States was apparently part of some neo-Hydra wannabe group. The wind went rather abruptly from her angry sails.. She’d never met the man, but she knew Natasha and Steve had meetings with him fairly regularly. Ohhhhhh this was not good.

 

The man - Pierce - watched her closely, smiling calmly all the while. “You look to be a little confused, Junior Agent Lewis. I happen to be in a responsive mood at the moment, so if you would consider decreasing the amount of expletives you use, perhaps I can answer some of your questions before our presentation.”

 

Darcy wanted to spit a couple more F-bombs at him for that condescending little dig, but honestly, with the adrenaline no longer coursing so strongly through her veins, the druggy headache had come roaring back in full force. 

 

“Presentation? What is this, like a recruiting seminar? For your little neo-Nazi organization? Because you should know I’m Jewish,” She finally said, figuring if he wanted to play carrot before stick, who was she to complain? And ideally, if she got him monologuing, the less Pain Time ™  there would be before someone showed up to get her.

 

Pierce’s smile widened to reveal actual teeth, which did nothing to calm Darcy’s nerves. “Something like a recruiting seminar. And there is nothing  _ neo _ about this organization my dear. We’ve been around for just as long as your dear Captain. And, just like him, presumed dead for nearly as long.”

 

SHIELD...wasn’t SHIELD. Darcy’s mind whirled, this man was the Secretary of Defense. If he said Hydra had never been eliminated, she was inclined to believe him, naturally suspicious being though she was.

 

“So what, you want me to get to Steve? I realize I’m in no position for you to believe me, but I ain’t the one keeping his bed warm at night, if you know what I mean. And I  _ really _ don’t think you’ll like who does.” This time, it was Darcy’s turn to bare her teeth at Pierce, as she envisioned Natasha thigh-crushing his skull.

 

(Apparently being kidnapped really curb-stomped her more pacifist tendencies right quick)

 

But the man shook his head, “oh, I’m afraid my dear our interests in you are purely of the mind.” Ignoring her snarked  _ well thank god for small favors _ , he continued: “Captain Rogers has been particularly successful in his heroic endeavors as of late. He was always a brilliant tactician, but in the last year his fighting style has evolved into something a little more...modern. Varied.  He is, quite simply, better than anything we could throw at him, physically at least. We had a” Pierce hesitated, “researcher run an exhaustive analysis on the stressors and influences on the Captain, and they came to the conclusion that  _ you _ were the cause of his unusually rapid evolution.”

 

Darcy couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Oh my Thor, I show the guy the occasional Krav Maga takedown on YouTube and you think I can be credited with his fighting style? And you believed whatever crackpot sold you this? Shit, the poor peon was probably desperate to spit out something so you didn’t send him to a gulag or whatever it is shitty people do to other shitty people nowadays.”

 

Wincing slightly at her “shits,” Pierce kept his eyes fixed on hers. “I have complete faith in Zola’s analytical abilities. Likely most of what you are doing is unconscious. But, believe it or not, you have been the most influential influence on Steve Rogers this century. Not Natasha, not Tony Stark, you.”

 

Darcy was still highly skeptical, but the fact that this man believed it was clearly enough. If she ever ran into this Zola during her captivity, they were going to have  _ words _ about the usage of proper statistical models and their ability to be applied to individual people. “So what, you think removing me from the situation will cause Steve to regress into something manageable? It doesn’t work like that. You said it yourself.  _ He’s already better than your best.  _ My ‘work’ is done. And even if it wasn’t, are you forgetting about all the other super-people he runs around with?”

 

Blue eyes still boring into hers, Pierce shook his head slightly. “The Avengers, and their associated ilk are chaotic. The people and organizations they fight are chaotic. Easily disassembled. What this world needs is order, and that’s what Hydra will provide.”

 

Pierce took a step closer to her, still staring into her eyes. If this was a staring contest, Darcy would have lost a thousand times over. The man seemingly did not blink. “We’re not just removing you from one equation, we’re adding you to another. You are going to make our best Asset better than Captain America -”

 

He held up his hand, already anticipating her vociferous rejection, and laid it gently against her neck. For the first time, Darcy realized that there was something around her neck other than what was strapping her to the upright table. “-you  _ will _ do it. You simply don’t have a choice”

 

Darcy glared defiantly back at the man. “I sincerely doubt that showing Rumlow or whomever some YouTube video is going to make him better than Captain Goddamn America, but the fact alone that you think it will means I am going to do Jack Shit that involves the internet and whatever rabid dog you want to sic on the world.”

 

Pierce released his slight grip on her neck, and did not deign to answer. The good humor with which he took her words disturbed Darcy far more than anger or a raised hand would have. He called out in a slightly louder voice, obviously intended for someone outside the room, “I believe Ms. Lewis is ready to meet him now!”

 

The door slide open, and Olsen was back, wheeling a man in a wheelchair. At least, Darcy thought it was a man. There was a bag over his head, and his hands and feet were handcuffed to the chair. From beneath the bag, muffled sounds were emerging - whomever was under there was also apparently gagged.

 

Olsen positioned the seated figure so it was about 10 feet away from Darcy, facing directly towards her. He grinned at the brunette, “I made sure to pass on exactly how much you like electricity. Turns out, so do we.”

 

Pierce shot a quelling glance at the younger agent, and then held out his hand. Somewhat reluctantly it seemed to Darcy, Olsen pulled what appeared to be small a remote from one of the many pockets of his grey cargo pants and handed it to the Director. 

 

“I have no doubt that you are very courageous, Ms. Lewis, and could withstand all sorts of physical horrors if you truly wanted to. However, you also happen to be quite empathetic. I’ve seen the footage from New Mexico. You braved an extraterrestrial robot to rescue a  _ dog _ ,” He chuckled, as if the very notion of such an act was absurd to him.

 

Pierce turned away from Darcy, and walked towards the handcuffed man. Lifting his hood slightly, Darcy saw a slim black, techno-looking collar around his neck. Almost as an afterthought, Pierce turned back to her. “I feel compelled to mention that the same device has also been secured around your neck. Any attempts to tamper with the device will result - not in your death, you’re too heroic to allow you that avenue - but in your immediate and painful paralyzation until a Hydra agent can arrive at your location and secure you.”

 

Darcy shrugged. “Meh, I mean don’t get me wrong, the headache associate with your particular knock-off brand of night-night gas is killer, but I wouldn’t call it any worse than a doozy of a hangover.”

 

Olsen barked out a laugh from the corner of the room, where he’d retreated. “You really don’t get it, do you Princess?”

 

Pierce ignored Olsen’s interjection, and faced Darcy. “I’m afraid that’s not quite what we had in mind with this particular device.”

 

Eyes once again boring into Darcy’s, he raised his hand and hit a button on the remote. 

 

She flinched, expecting some sort of pain (although she wasn’t sure what form) but felt nothing. 

 

Directly behind Pierce, blocked from the Darcy’s site, the handcuffed man began to scream.

 

Pierce stepped to the side, finger still on the button, to allow Darcy to see the unknown man again, twitching in his wheelchair, electricity arching along his handcuffs and through the metal frame of the chair. 

 

After a second, he released his finger and the man slumped down, panting. Still looking at Darcy - he hadn’t even glanced at the man he’d just been torturing once - Pierce smiled and gave a half shrug at Darcy’s horrified impression. 

Then, in an instance, he was back to business. “I’m afraid I have a pressing meeting with the WSC I must call in for, or I would continue this, ‘seminar,’ as you so nicely put it, myself. I will leave you in Agent Olsen’s capable hands until I return."

 

Turning and buttoning his suit jacket, Pierce handed the remote to Olsen, who appeared in Darcy’s terrified mind to be practically chomping at the bit for it. Rather than releasing the remote right away, Pierce tugged on it, bringing Olsen closer. “I expect Ms. Lewis to be physically unharmed upon my return. And I expect  _ him _ to be...alive. Are we clear, Agent?”

 

Disgustingly, Olsen seemed almost deflated at the orders. But, he snapped a sharp salute and barked, “Yes, Sir. Hail Hydra!” as Pierce walked away. 

 

Unnervingly, Darcy found herself wanting to call out after the retreating figure. He was sociopathic, undoubtedly, but he seemed at least restrained. She had no doubt he would torture her or the other man because he felt it necessary to advance his cause, but from him she thought it would be perfunctory. Whereas Olsen, all the alarm bells that had been going off about him at Darcy’s apartment - and didn’t that seem like a lifetime ago - were back and clanging with full force. Olsen was a wild animal. He seemed to delight in the pain of the bound man, and in Darcy’s fear. He was practically bathing in it.

 

The door slid shut behind Pierce, and Olsen nearly giggled. 

 

“Now then princess, just you and me. And That,” he added, jerking his head at the nameless man.

 

Finding her voice again, Darcy croaked, “Who is he?” The monologuing tactic had worked on Pierce - although she suspected he had planned on telling her all those things then anyway - maybe it would work on Olsen.

 

Olsen shrugged, his full attention on Darcy. “Does it matter? We picked him up somewhere in Ohio. Was walking his dog. We let the dog go, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear.”

 

Olsen moved to stand behind the man, still facing Darcy. “Now then,” he began, as he raised the remote, “I wonder how long I can hold this button down before he begins to smoke?”

 

The man began screaming. And Darcy opened her mouth and screamed with him.

 

_ 12:00pm _

 

Olsen stood directly in front of Darcy, hands bracing on either side of her head. Eyes boring into hers. “You know,” he said conversationally, “your pupils dilate when you’re afraid.” He leaned closer, so she could see that his pupils too were shot wide, and vacant looking. “Or aroused.”

 

He pressed the button. 

 

The man screamed. 

 

Darcy just cried.

 

_ 1:30pm _

 

“Here,” Olsen crowed, “You give it a go!” He grabbed Darcy’s hand, flattening it against the table to which she was bound, and forced the remote into it. His hand covering hers and trapping her finger against the button. He pushed her finger down. Darcy had screamed herself hoarse 30 minutes ago begging Olsen to stop, to give the man some respite, but she still struggled against this newest invasion on her psyche. 

 

The man appeared to be unconscious. While his body still jerked in the chair, no sound came from his mouth. Thank god, Thank god. (And how fucked up was that, some backwater portion of her brain thought dully, that she was thankful for her own sanity, for how at least she wouldn't have this blood so directly on her hands, as she was watching some man be electrocuted into unconsciousness). 

 

Olsen, true to form, was disappointed. He checked the unconscious man’s pulse, briefly, and then retreated to the right side of the room, where he sat against the wall, humming to himself. 

 

Darcy closed her eyes. She’d begged Olsen to hurt her instead, she’d cussed him out, she’d fought uselessly against her bindings. She’d cried so hard she’d nearly choked, she’d screamed so much her voice was raw. And she still felt such a deep loathing, not just for Olsen, who she had come to fear in a primal way, but for herself. That she was unharmed while this innocent bystander was tortured just to prove a point. To prove a point to her. 

 

Her head dropped. Even with the relative silence in the room (minus Olsen’s demented humming), the man’s cries reverberated through her skull.

 

_ 2:00pm _

 

“He’s awaaaaake!” Darcy was jolted back into awareness as Olsen sang out, and raised the remote again.

 

_ 3:00pm _

 

She threw up.

 

_ 3:30pm _

 

Olsen abruptly lifted his finger off the button. “I believe the Director has returned, Darcy Lou.” He immediately raised a hand, shaking with - excitement, arousal, exertion? - and smoothed his hair down. 

 

Darcy blinked. She couldn’t speak, could barely think, but the sudden change in Olsen from psychopathic madman to efficient agent was alarming, to say the least. 

 

(His screams. His cries. She didn’t think she would ever not hear them)

 

Pierce strode through the door, taking in the changes in the room since he’d last been there: vomit down Darcy’s clothes, red rimmed eyes, the slight charred scent in the air.

 

Gone was even the semblance of the conversational man from before. 

 

“I take it Olsen has showed you exactly what we will do should you not agree to help us? There are 7 billion people in the world, Ms. Lewis. And we will torture and kill as many as we need - in front of you, slowly - until you agree to teach our Asset. In your words, you show our man a few ‘youtube videos,’ and this man’s suffering is over.”

 

Pierce paused, and Olsen returned the remote to Pierce’s hand. 

 

“Do you agree? If this man dies, we will merely get another to replace him.”

 

Darcy could feel the tears streaming down her face. She’d been so ready to be waterboarded, to be hit. She’d come in prepared to talk smack and get smacked in return. Nothing could have prepared her for this form of emotional assault. 

 

“Do you agree, Ms. Lewis?”

 

God help her, she nodded. 

 

Briskly, Pierce continued. “Excellent job Olsen, as always, you’re dismissed. Please dispose of Mr. Montclair as you leave.”

 

Another “Hail Hydra,” and Olsen and the man - Montclair, Darcy latched onto the name - were gone.

  
“Now, Junior Agent Lewis, why don’t we get you cleaned up, and you can meet your newest pupil? We’re almost to his base now.”

 

(Out damn spot, out.)


	6. Chapter 6

Two other nameless agents grabbed Darcy, releasing her from her confines. She felt herself go limp against them, the stress of the past days rendering her legs beyond useless. They dragged her between them, straining her shoulders slightly from their grip. She found herself embracing the pain, wishing they’d hit her, that they’d hurt her, that she could atone through her own blood.

 

Instead, they shoved her into a bare room, about the size of a large closet, with a spartan showerhead and toilet in one corner, and a cot taking up most of the ground space. Folded neatly on the cot were white drawstring pants, perfunctory undergarments, and a loose shirt.

 

One of the men dragging her (she really didn’t care about his name, or his face, or the tone of his voice, she didn’t care) told her she would have a couple hours to wash and change, and possibly get some rest. As he said this last part, he handed her what looked like some pills in a cup. Probably sleeping pills. Darcy tossed them down the drain the first chance she got. She didn’t deserve the rest, didn’t deserve the sleep. 

 

She’d agreed to help Hydra. A threat the Avengers hadn’t even realized existed yet. They were likely looking at known AIM affiliates, not the Secretary of Defense and his helicarrier. (If they were even looking for her. If they even cared.)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

 

She’d agreed to betray her country. Her friends. And she would have agreed much earlier if Olsen had only asked. Would have begged to. Instead she’d had to watch, as he’d nearly killed a man in front of her. Slowly. (The man was probably dead now anyway, Darcy somehow doubted that Hydra “disposed” of people any other way)

 

She wondered if his dog had been found. Had been taken in. Did he have a wife? Children?

 

She wished she could cry again, but she just felt empty, a husk. The Darcy from 48 hours ago seemed like a stranger. A selfish, arrogant stranger, ignorant to the pain she would cause those around her. A stupid, silly child trying to act brave in front of the big scary man. Why had she even bothered? She should have known they’d win, they’d overcome whatever defenses she had. But she had wanted her bravado, her token resistance, and someone else had paid the price for that pride.

 

And so she lay on the cot in the dark and waited. Whatever they threw at her, she was ready, she would embrace it. She deserved no more and no less.

  
  


She must have fallen at some point into some mimicry of sleep, but the angry ragged edge of guilt stayed with her. The steadily decreasing altitude woke her from her drifting, and Darcy found herself as emotionally raw and rung out as before. 

 

When Unknown Agent #1 came back to get her, he cast a knowing glance at her haggard expression and the shower drain. Darcy was unsurprised. She doubted she looked particularly perky and well-rested. Actually more like the ass-end of roadkill, if her blurry reflection passing her in the hallway was anything to go by. 

 

Frogmarched by Unknown Agent towards the cargo doors of the carrier, he bruskly handed her a pair of heavy duty boots and a parka. Not really processing, Darcy slid on the bulky outerwear, and then was immediately glad she did as the ramp slid open and - holy hell what god forsaken corner of the earth was this? All she could see was white, how the hell did they  _ land _ ? Temporarily frozen - the wind was  _ screaming _ through the carrier -  the agent behind her gave her a not ungentle nudge, and guided her out into the frozen tundra.

 

Even with the parka and boots, the cold shot through her with alarming force, and she was all too happy to clamber up into the back of some sort of all-terrain vehicle. As the door slammed shut behind her -- apparently Unknown But Possibly Slightly Human If The Sleeping Pills Were Any Indication Agent was not coming along - a thought listlessly  occurred to her. She’d already realized the chance of a patented Avengers Rescue ™  were slim to nil, but the true hostility of the terrain seemed insurmountable, even for them. 

 

After about 30 min of rumbling along - and if possible the landscape seemed to be getting even more remote - they pulled up outside what appeared to be an old bomb shelter, a half circle of concrete rising out of the white plains around them.

 

The door to her back seat was wrenched open, and Darcy was treated to the always unsettling sight of Olsen’s grinning face as he reached up and hauled her out with a bruising grip on her upper arm. Pierce stood outside as well, somehow looking as austere and refined in a parka as thick as him as he did in his grey suit. Together the trio made their way to the doors of the bunker, stopping briefly for Pierce to enter a code. 

 

As the door descended behind them with a hollow thud, the howling wind abruptly cut off, and they were all plunged into darkness.  From the echos the closing door made, Darcy was fairly positive the cavern they now found themselves in was much larger than it looked from her brief glance. 

 

At a glance from Pierce, Olsen released his hold on Darcy’s arm - where exactly did they think she’d run, after all? - and stepped forward, hitting a light switch that lit up the space about the size of a football field. The bunker was even larger than that though; it continued to recede into shadows beyond the harsh glare of the lights, 

and Darcy was unable to see a back wall. 

 

A thought sprung unbidden into her mind and, almost unconsciously, she giggled. What a foreign sound, she mused abstractly. Pierce glanced inquiringly at her, and she couldn’t help herself. “You want me show some guy how to Vine or whatever B.S. you think is going to help you bring ‘Order’ to the world  _ here? _ I hate to break it to you, you Gordon Gekko-looking motherfucker, but I’m pretty sure this place doesn’t have wifi. And even if it did, it would very likely be heavily censored by whatever non-democratic regime is in charge of this hellhole. Is it Russia? It’s totally Russia isn’t it. Serbia?”

 

Pierce seemed to enjoy her mouthiness - Jesus, what would she have to do to get this guy to crack? - and stepped forward to enter a biometric code into a panel against the wall. As he was holding his eyelid up to allow a proper scan, he responded “Luckily for your potential Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder, Ms. Lewis, this is only a pit stop to pick up your new protege. We thought it best you get acquainted in a place where, if he kills you, it won’t much matter how we clean up the mess. He can be a little...volatile when woken up.”

 

Darcy raised her eyebrow. “Oh, please don’t tell me you have a Hulk-lite hidden in this horror movie set.” She had no idea if it was the invigorating cold, or if she was re-finding the righteous flames of her pissed-offedness again, but her head felt more clear than it had since before the fake Doombot attack. More herself. 

 

She was going to need so much therapy to get over this if she survived, but at the moment, with the villainous landscape, the villainous vehicle,  and the villainous villains surrounding her, she did not feel so responsible for Montclair’s pain. It was all thanks to these bastards in front of her, and now they were going to offer her up as a canary in the proverbial coal mine against whatever hell-beast they’d concocted. Well bring it the  _ fuck _ on. Darcy regularly hung out with Bruce Banner, whatever oversized muppet reject they had stored here was not going to faze her.

 

As Pierce’s biometrics were accepted, a box the size of a small car rose from the floor, mechanics whirring. With a hiss, the top slid open, and frozen air spilled out.

 

“Oh very nice, good build up. Really heightens the suspense,” Darcy sang while clapping. 

 

Pierce shot her a vaguely irritated glance. Apparently irreverence did it for him where snark did not. Good to know.

 

Olsen strode forward, moving purposely towards the box. Ignoring Darcy’s heckle asking if  _ he was trying to impress his boss-man by showing no fear in the face of such horror - oh wait he was used to looking at his own face in the mirror everyday nevermind she retracted her question _ \- he punched in a code, and a slab rose up, displaying the body of a seemingly frozen man. Pierce walked up to join Olsen and, curious and accepting the inevitable, Darcy followed, coming to stand slightly behind Pierce, and looking down at the “Asset” curiously.

 

Things to know: Darcy Anna Lewis had a deep and abiding passion for old World War II movies, grown from lazy Sundays watching them with her father as a pre-teen. Darcy Anna Lewis had double-majored in Political Science and History. Darcy Anna Lewis regularly hung out with Steven Rogers. And Darcy Anna Lewis sure as fuck knew what James Buchanan Barnes looked like, long hair and beard or no.

 

Darcy Anna Lewis was shocked speechless.

 

Almost.

 

“Holy Fucking Shit.”

 

“Not quite what you were expecting, huh Darcy Lou?” Olsen smirked from the other side of the frozen soldier. Darcy didn’t even deign to answer. Turning instead to Pierce, she asked “Is he dead?”

 

“Stasis,” the statesman replied. “And, while he’s thawing, I think we should establish some ground rules, for this partnership to run smoothly”

 

He looked at her, clearly waiting for a response, but she was too busy staring down at the face of a long dead hero. Oh,  _ Steve _ . Darcy thought with a sudden pang of empathy for her friend. She would have to survive this, Steve needed to know. But what did this mean? Was Barnes Hydra? Had he been Hydra when Steve knew him?

 

Pierce cleared his throat, drawing Darcy’s thoughts back to the present. When she glanced back at him, he continued.

 

“I take it you recognize him? Good. He does not recognize himself. He is the Asset. He listens to us. That’s all you need to know about his past. The contraption around your neck has been programmed to listen for certain key words - anything about his past, anything about who he is,  _ anything _ about Steve Rogers - and you will not like the shock you get.” Pierce cleared his throat, watching for Darcy’s acknowledgement. 

 

“So, do I like, get a list of verboten words or what? Or what if, for example, say I want to show him how an iphone works and I start talking about Steve J- OW!” The shock tore through Darcy, and she seized several times before hitting the floor, gasping. Well, she thought, staring mulishly at Pierce’s (probably designer) snow boots, that answers that. Olsen whooped in the background because  _ of course _ he did. 

 

Staring down at her, Pierce waited for her to catch her breath before gesturing for her to stand up. (Didn’t offer her a hand up. Not that she would take it)

 

“You’re a smart girl, if we provided you with a list you’d just find a work around. The technology is rudimentary and blunt, however, so I suggest you figure out a way to teach the Asset about the history of Apple without mentioning that particular visionary. Incidentally, all devices you will be using have software on them that prevent anyone using them from accessing any information we think would be...detrimental to the Asset’s progress.”

 

As he was saying this, Pierce produced from his pocket a smartphone, albeit light years behind Darcy’s previous, Stark-produced cell, and handed it to her. She took it gingerly, half expecting the damn thing to explode in her face.

 

“Go on,” Pierce encourage, “Look for yourself.”

 

Darcy swiped to open the phone, and then again to bring up a browser. Curious in spite of herself, she typed in “Apple Computers” into wikipedia, and scanned through the resulting page. Sure enough, like in a classified case file, any reference to Job’s or Wozniak’s first name was blacked out. Huh. Probing further, she typed in “Steve Rogers” and was rewarded with another brutal shock. 

 

“This phone was built to be resistant to outside electrical impulses, so you won’t need to worry about short-circuiting either the device or the computer you will also have access to.”

 

Well wasn’t that awfully considerate of them, Darcy grumped as she made her way back to her feet for the second time in minutes.

 

“So, I apparently have my marching orders, I understand the parameters of my engagement with the Asset - “ Darcy swore she saw Pierce’s mouth twitch at her exaggerated use of military language - “what happens now?”

 

“Now,” Pierce replied, “We wait for the Asset to reach a safe enough temperature to be recalibrated.”

 

Olsen chimed in, “You ever electrocute frozen flesh? It doesn’t end well. Plus, we gotta get him in The Chair, and you gotta wait a while before you try to bend the arms and legs or things just tend to...snap off.”

  
Thanks for yet another gruesome image there, you psychotic bastard. And SHIT, these people really did not mess around when Olsen said they liked electrocuting things (people). If Darcy ever survived this, she was finding another method of non-lethal protection. The Taser would have to go. Or, she considered as she eye-balled Olsen, maybe a more lethal method of protection  _ was _ the way to go after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bum bum da da! Actually got a chapter out when I said I would look at me go!


	7. Chapter 7

As it turned out, waiting for a frozen supersoldier to thaw was incredibly boring. Olsen was slumped against a wall, looking miserable (good). If only there were some insects that could survive in this place, then he could amuse himself by pulling their wings off, Darcy thought. She was leaning against the opposite wall, eyes closed. The complete lack of real sleep she’d had was finally catching up. For the first hour or so, she’d “amused” herself with searching around on the HydraPhone, figuring out what was and wasn’t kosher for her to look up. Obviously anything about the Avengers or Captain America’s past. As it turned out, that included herself (first shock). Or the Battle of Manhatten (second shock). Or even Puente Antiguo (third shock). And she could only be zapped so many times before that got really, really old. So now she was just listlessly sitting, head against the wall with her eyes closed, wondering if it was cold enough that if she fell asleep she’d freeze to death, and not really caring if that did happen.

 

Pierce still stood by Barnes, periodically checking a readout in the slab, presumably his vitals

 

Was she being too easy-going? She’d just inquired about the particulars of this “job” like it had been any other. What were the parameters, what could and couldn’t she do, what was the goal? Should she have forced them to tell her, not just asked? Grudgingly make them drag her along every step of the process?

 

But what good would that have done? They’d still all be exactly where they were now, only perhaps with the threat of more “seminars” a real possibility.

 

She was just so exhausted. God, what even was the point?

 

The sound of a code being entered interrupted Darcy’s self-flagellation, and she opened her eyes to watch Pierce enter the final digits, and step back. Metal restraints sprung from the seemingly smooth slab to wrap around Barnes’ wrists, waist, and ankles, while a larger, cap-like device emerged from the side of the box and wrapped around his head. The internal mechanisms whirred, and the plates of the slab shifted, moving so the man looked like he was sitting upright in a chair, although he was restrained. 

 

Pierce nodded at Olsen who - holy hell when and where had he gotten a machine gun from? - cocked his weapon and aimed it at the man.

 

A startled cry from Darcy went unheeded, but when Olsen didn’t pull the trigger immediately she realized the gun was likely a precautionary measure.

 

Electricity arced through the bindings and the machine, flashing and sparking so bright Darcy had to shield her eyes. Barnes’ eyes flew open, and his expression - previously solemn and blank - changed to one of pain and surprise. His teeth gritted, his jaw clenched, but a pained growl still emerged.

 

After several exceedingly long minutes - Darcy had to stuff part of her jacket in her mouth to prevent herself from yelling out, her own experiences and Montclair’s still fresh in her mind - Pierce relented, and the machine powered down, with the helmet part receding once again into the slab. Barnes was panting, his chest heaving up and down beneath the black tactical gear he had on. He didn’t speak, watching Pierce warily. Wow, the old pictures didn’t really convey it, but his eyes were startling. Darcy had seen several sketches and paintings that Steve had done of his old friend, so she knew intellectually that he’d had blue eyes, but there was an icy, cold quality to them now, the only real color in a man dressed completely in shades of black and grey.

 

Darcy found she was holding her breath, torn between curiosity at what might happen next, and fear. All was quiet in the bunker for several seconds, except for the sounds of Barnes’ harsh breathing, and Olsen shifting uneasily.

 

At last, Pierce spoke, low and guttural and Russian. He paused after each intonation, clearly demarcating what he was saying as a string of words, and not a sentence. Darcy had a brief flash of anger at herself for not having taken more of the “suggested” SHIELD courses, one of which involved memorization techniques in stressful situations. Even as she struggled to concentrate on what Pierce was saying, she felt the sounds slipping away from her.

 

As Pierce finished, a curious change came over the soldier in front of them. He had hardly been a beacon of emotion previously, but now he looked practically lobotomized. The slight wariness with which he’d watched them, the grit of his teeth against the electricity, the iciness of his eyes. It was as if someone had passed a filter over the man, and everything was dulled.

 

Peirce had clearly seen the same miniscule changes Darcy had, for he continued - still in Russian - at a much faster clip, clearly giving Barnes instructions or orders. This went on for a surprisingly long time, with Barnes nodding slightly when prompted, or responding with single words answers, also in Russian. Despite the enormity of the situation, Darcy felt her adrenaline receding slightly, as she struggled to concentrate on the incomprehensible exchange in front of her. 

 

Peirce gestured at her, and Barnes’ eyes immediately locked onto hers. Darcy froze in place - somewhere between feeling like prey caught in the crosshairs, and fascination at coming face to face with a legend. He stood up - when had he been unshackled? - and made his way towards her, walking in purposeful strides that sent Darcy’s unconscious solidly towards the “prey” part of her hindbrain. She found herself backing up, at such a rapid pace she was afraid she’d trip, until her back hit the wall. Still, he did not stop, did not blink, until he was maybe a foot away. His eyes flickered over her cursorily, and he immediately stepped back with a sharp “ _ Da”  _ at Peirce.

 

Maybe it had been a good thing she hadn’t taken any more SHIELD classes, Darcy thought dizzily as she sucked in air she hadn’t even realized she needed. Because she was pretty sure he’d just been assessing her threat level, and she’d never been so glad to be found wanting. She had no idea what he would have done had he found her threatening - or even what the cut off would be for that sort of thing with an undead super soldier - but she was very glad that she was likely solidly below that threshold.

 

Pierce chuckled, “I didn’t think so.” While he spoke in English, he clearly was still addressing Barnes. “Gather your equipment, and get in the vehicle outside. 10 minutes.”

 

Without another word, Barnes disappeared into the darkness at the other end of the bunker. Seemingly confident in Barnes’ ability to follow orders, Pierce turned, glanced at Darcy, and jerked his head towards the hangar doors. She braced as Olsen opened the hatch, and the wind barrelled in. Ignoring her rising irritation at herself for unquestioningly following orders, she made her way back towards the vehicle that was barely visible through the snow, clambering up into the back, with Olsen right behind her. Pierce and Bar- the Asset must have gotten into the front portion, separated from Darcy and Olsen, because no one else joined them before the machine rumbled back to life, and with a jolt took back off across the tundra.

 

As they arrived at the site of the Helicarrier landing, Darcy obediently made a move to open the door, but was stopped by Olsen. She watched through the window as Pierce walked towards the helicarrier loading dock, his silhouette growing smaller as they drove away. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, with just Olsen and the Asset, and was thankful that Olsen seemed to be brooding, rather than focussing on tormenting her.

 

A little while later, they arrived at a small air strip, where a much smaller plane sat ready to take off. Still completely in silence the trio made their way onto the plane, with Barnes taking the pilot’s seat. Olsen strapped Darcy into the back, hands only lingering slightly longer than she felt comfortable before taking the co-pilot’s seat. 

 

The trip continued in silence as the plane took off, and Darcy found herself leaning against the complicated seatbelt, her eyes fluttering shut. She felt a slight sense of unease at being so defenseless in the same general area as Olsen, but somehow the presence of Barnes - best friend of Captain America - put her mind at ease, even as she knew it shouldn't.

 

When they landed - however many hours later - it was into an environment much more hospitable than the last. They were in a meadow. An honest to god meadow. Beyond it, she could see alpine mountains, also covered in greenery, with craggy grey rock peeking through. Darcy blinked rapidly several times, and elected to maintain her silence, as she was pretty sure if she said anything right now it would come out ass-backwards. Across the meadow, a small stone house receded into the surrounding forest. 

 

Olsen grinned at Darcy, obviously enjoying her shock. “Welcome home, Darcy Lou.”

 

Gathering her wits, she croaked “What, no underground bunker? I’m a little disappointed, you guys have been such an evil cliche up until now, I was almost looking forward to it.” So, not her best quip, but in her defense this was a lot. 

 

Olsen shrugged, and smirked at her. “If you want to be chained up, all you have to do is ask, Princess.”

 

Darcy rolled her eyes and turned away, but Olsen continued. 

 

“We needed the Asset somewhere less remote, so he can easily be called for missions. This meadow, and the surrounding 100 or so miles, don’t technically exist. They won’t show up anywhere, not even Google Maps. A nice little cosy spot to stow you and that - “he grabbed Darcy by the shoulders and steered her to look at where Barnes was unloading supplies - “until one or both of you is needed again. And yes, this place is connected to the internet. After all,” and here Olsen grinned at her, and this close Darcy realized that several of his teeth had been shaved into  _ actual fangs what the fuck _ , “we’re not complete savages.”

 

Behind Darcy, Barnes had clearly finished unpacking, and was starting to haul gear towards the stone house. Olsen grabbed Darcy’s chin, pressed a kiss to her cheek before she could react and reboarded the small plane, calling out behind him as he went, “Stay sweet, Darcy Lou!”

 

Darcy should have been furious, and while she did vigorously scrub at her face with her parka jacket - in which she was now seriously overheating - watching Olsen and the plane disappear into the blue sky was possibly the best thing she’d seen all day.

  
Of course, now she was really truly alone. With no idea where in the world she was. With Barnes. A complete unknown. As she removed her heavy coat, she couldn’t help shivering a little, despite the sweat that dampened the rough white shirt she’d been given. Hydra didn’t just leave people to their own devices. What exactly were they planning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone want to guess where they are?
> 
> We're finally getting some Darcy/Bucky interaction! Olsen and Pierce will be making several more appearances (I know how much everyone loves Olsen), but I can now focus more on the dynamic between Darcy and Bucky, as they're off completely alone together.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp! This is the first time I've tried something like this! And by "this" I mean writing in anything other than an academic setting. I sort of decided to jump right in with a multi-chapter fic, because why the hell not.


End file.
